


don't be down, girl, this world is a bummer

by ghoulfuckery (PomTheHobbit)



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Multi, Post-Skyward Sword, Worldbuilding, canon compliant (sort of), flexing on nintendos worldbuilding by making the gerudo normal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomTheHobbit/pseuds/ghoulfuckery
Summary: A statue sits in the middle of the room. It’s of a woman— the mother—and she has two snakes entwined around her, each set with small jewels for eyes. Their heads rest in her palms, gazing at her with snake-like adoration.She takes a few steps forward. Something calls to her in this room—a gentle beacon that’s similar to Hylia’s pull when she’s at the sacred springs, and despite Link’s startled tug at her shoulder, she enters. The jeweled snake eyes gleam as she and her light approach.It’s probably a trick of the light, but for a moment, she swears that the snakes are looking at her. An air of disappointment radiates from them, and the woman’s face is forgiving, but there’s a mournful tilt to her mouth as her eyes shift to look at Link and Zelda. Zelda blinks and then shakes her head.Something echoes in her head, a thought that’s not her own. It’s a voice, familiar enough that she can almost remember the true face of who it belongs to.So you’ve come back to us, Hylia? How very bold of you.
Relationships: Implied Link/Zelda - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	don't be down, girl, this world is a bummer

**Author's Note:**

> i play a little fast and loose w/ the 'Zelda has Hylia's memories' thing. it's a cheap plot device. title is from Orville Peck's 'Queen of the Rodeo'

The first ruins they fly over in the desert that borders the Sand Sea aren’t particularly interesting. Neither are the ones after that, and the ones that follow. The surface is a land of abandoned buildings and crumbling stone that both Link and Zelda have learned to ignore for their own sakes.

Really, nothing’s all too different from the serene but desolate lands they’ve been flying over, at least until tall mountains begin to touch the sky. The sun reflects off of the burnt orange stone, monoliths in the dusty sands that border them; a barrier between the rising peaks of the Eldin mountain range and the endless Sand Sea. 

Feathers shimmering in the late day sun as it banks to the side, her loftwing moves closer to Link when she prompts it with a light squeeze of her knees. Zelda looks at the town and over the wind, shouts at Link. “We should land!”

He nods.

Beneath them, buildings smatter the ground in a way that’s too organized to be anything but the remnants of a real town. It’s the first they’ve flown over, beyond the manufacturing plants and mines and unlike those, there is no vast and abandoned mine entrance, rusted metal supports creaking in the wind.

Together, they land in what looks to be the remnants of a sandy courtyard, the loftwings immediately taking off from the hot sand when they dismount. Around them, the hamlet—if it could even be called that—sits silent and still. 

After glancing around for a moment, Link doodles a small shekiah eye in the sand and looks at her, a question in his eyes. 

Zelda shakes her head. “We’re too far west for that, and the buildings look different.” 

In fact, they’re very different from the Shekiah buildings that Hylia had known, that play at the corners of her memory. These buildings are far more organic in shape, rounded edges and few corners. It’s almost like Skyloft, but where Skyloft’s design had been from years of wear and tear, and a lack of architects and building materials, these are intentionally designed. 

These buildings are worn down from the sand and the grit, but there is a purpose to their curves, to every rounded corner and terracotta roof.

Hylia’s memories are mixed with Zelda’s like oil and water, but there is nothing about this town or area in her memories, save deep and unending guilt that seeps through her stomach to settle in her chest. It’s disconcerting because if there’s anything Zelda knows, it’s that Hylia feels very little guilt for her actions. 

Winding indolently through the red stone that makes up the mountains is a road that connects the tiny town to something in the distance, and she squints at it. There’s more buildings, and she wonders if it’s something a little bigger and a little more impressive than what they’re standing in. 

“Link, c’mon. There’s another town farther down, and I want to walk there.” 

Link follows her without question, and they set off, their boots rasping against the hot sand. 

The road slopes downwards, twisting between tall rock formations and an old river bed set deep into a gorge that’s been dry for centuries. It’s too far down for her to see the bottom of, but every now and then, small lizards scuttle in and out of it, barely phased by Link and Zelda’s trespassing in their home. 

Buildings pepper the road around them, doors open or nonexistent with sand piling inside of them, catching on building corners. Dilapidated fences stick from the ground like broken moblin teeth, and more often than not, they’re nonexistent. Wherever this is has truly been empty for countless years. The dirt under their feet turns into a stone paved road, and soon, a gate looms above them. Beyond it the town nestled into the mountain looms, obtrusively empty. 

Guilt settles into her chest and stomach like a weight. When Link looks over, Zelda knows that he can see it. The legacy of Hylia’s actions lay in front of them, and she doesn’t know if she’s ready to deal with it in such a real way. But she knew this would have happened eventually, didn’t she? Adventuring the world meant facing what was left behind. 

So she strides through the gate, Link beside her. 

An empty guardhouse sits beside the gate, door askew and deteriorated by the elements. There are few buildings around them, but instead, large tiered stone pits set into the side of the mountain, filled with dry soil. 

The road widens and they enter into the city, and Zelda can barely keep up with what she’s seeing. There’s a courtyard that Link’s walking into, but it’s more of a town square than anything. Buildings surround it, built into the mountain itself and of a design similar to the ones that rest outside. 

Stairs spiral around the buildings and onto the roof, and, unsure of herself, Zelda hesitantly begins to ascend one. 

She can see more of the pits similar to the ones they passed resting in small niches in the buildings, and almost unconsciously, she walks over and cups a handful of the dirt from one of them. It crumbles in her hands, the soil so dry as to almost be sand. Something shines from within it, that tugs on her powers. Closing her eyes, she focuses, trying to let her power channel into the dry dirt. 

There are golden threads in the dirt in her palms, waving unconnected to the golden thrum of life that surrounds them. Seeds, she thinks, almost dead but not quite. She twines herself with them, wraps their fragile threads with hers, braiding them together. They shine, and she hears Link inhale sharply behind her.

She opens her eyes. 

Three little sprouts sit in her palm, the soil a rich black. As they both watch, the sprouts gently begin to unfurl, and Zelda carefully places them back into the little garden plot. Within minutes, the rest of the soil has turned into the fertile black, and three tiny little flowers sit in the pot. They’re beautiful, a dark blue that fades into a white at the center, and a sweet smell drifts from them in the dry desert breeze.

“Oh,” she says, after a pause. Link snorts, and she punches his shoulder. He theatrically winces but seems just as entranced with the flowers as she is. He reaches out and brushes the petals with a delicate touch of his fingers, and he turns to look at her. The smile drops from his face when he sees her expression. 

“I...” she trails off. “This was someone’s home. Someone planted these seeds, hundreds of years ago, and they kept blooming, long after they were gone until it was too dry for them to grow. This whole _town_ lived and died, and we’ll never know about them because Hylia didn’t send them to the sky.” Because _she_ didn’t send them to the sky. 

Link cocks his head, and purses his lips for a moment. He looks around and contemplates something for a moment, before making a beeline for the nearest building. He steps inside of it. 

“ _Link—_ ” she hisses, but he just peeks his head out of the doorway, and his look says it all. She did just say that they would never know about them, didn’t she?

She steps into the building and the air is noticeably cooler. It’s not dark inside, but the stone covers them, insulates them. There’s an old carpet on the ground, intricate designs well preserved by the heat, and as she looks around, her eyes catch on more and more things—

—A cooking area off to the side, a bedroom in the back that Link peeks into. Several vases with crumbled plant matter decorating the room, more niches filled with soil. Her heart aches as she takes in the remnants of someone’s life, and she fights the urge to just sit down on the floor and weep.

Link meanders over, looks at her face, and he frowns. He pulls her into a hug and she rests her head on his shoulder, the green fabric surprisingly soft. 

“I’m sorry,” she says into his shoulder. “It’s just a lot.” He pats her arm, and she sighs, lifting her head from him. He looks at her, concerned, and she shakes her head. “I keep thinking that things like this won’t affect me, but they _do._ It’s terrible.”

An understanding look crosses his face, and Zelda knows that Link’s likely gone through the same feeling. Of seeing a world that needed your help long before you were born, and that you could only pick through to hope to salvage what little remained.

“Hylia’s— my memories aren’t giving me any clue as to what this place was. It’s as if I just… didn’t care about it.” No, that’s not right. Zelda frowns. “Or it’s like I tried to forget.”

It’s entirely possible. The guilt that sits in her chest hasn’t abated, but the reason it's there is becoming more and more obvious. She pulls herself away from Link, and his face is still set in concern, but his hands gently fall from her shoulders. 

With growing melancholy, they explore the empty town, climbing up and down winding staircases that once saw so much traffic that there are footprints worn into the stone. 

Really, the town is a marvel. It’s partially carved into the stone of the mountain that rises behind and around it, and farther down in the areas not totally buried by ever-encroaching Sea, Zelda can see elegant and polished brickwork decorated by carvings faded by sand. 

As the sun begins a lazy and meandering descent into the mountains, trailing red fire and orange stained skies, she loses track of Link. Zelda ignores the small frisson of anxiety that trails into her sternum. He can't be very far, and he's loath to leave her alone these days, especially when they're in an unfamiliar location. 

Walking briskly down the abandoned and dusty road, Zelda peers at empty doorways and streets, searching for the warm green of his tunic. 

She’s about to take to the skies to find him when something catches out of the corner of her eye. It’s Link, and he waves at her. Walking over, her expression clearly isn’t as in control as she wants because the grin on his face turns sheepish. 

“If you’re going to go without me, can you _please_ tell me first?” Zelda snaps before he can getsure, and Link holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, and then tilts his head to the side, pointing at something. 

“What’s— oh.” Zelda trails off when she looks over.

It’s a tunnel entrance, arching far above them. The outside is the same as everything here, with long eroded tilework and a smooth sanded surface, but farther down, she can see curls of colour on the wall, beckoning them further into the dark. 

“Should we go in?” she asks, and Link tilts his head in consideration. “We should go in,” she says, more sure of herself. Link beams at her. 

The only noise is their breathing as they walk in, and the slow thump of her heart as the colours on the wall begin to bloom, even in the dark. Zelda raises her hand, palm facing up with an orb of light floating above it, and she can’t hold the gasp that escapes her.

Zelda has never considered herself too much of a historian. It bored her to tears most days, the slow droning of one of the teachers in Skyloft reading from a book that’s been recited a thousand times before her. 

But as she looks in front of her, as a fresco unfurls in the light that radiates from her palm, she thinks that she wouldn’t have minded so much if their stories had been told like this. 

People, with umber skin and flaming hair, dance around them on the walls. They interact with the land around them and the paintings reflect that with harmonious colours and lines, each flowing and elegant and unbreaking. It tells a story, one she’s unsure of. 

A woman features in them, a theme that only progresses as they walk farther. A snake is always twined around her shoulders, and her red and blue eyes seem to follow Zelda as they walk.

“Do you think she’s Hylia?” Zelda asks, and Link pauses before shaking his head. He makes a flapping gesture with his hands and softly whistles the loftwing call. 

He’s right. Hylia’s animal has never been the snake, but the loftwing. 

The woman, or maybe the goddess Zelda realizes, isn’t one she knows of. It could be Din, but there’s always a motif of war, or fire, that comes with Din. This woman isn’t a war chief, even though there are several paintings of her holding two curved swords. Life surrounds her, green grass and blooming flowers are painted in her footsteps. She holds the hands of the people around her, and although her face is stern, it’s kind. 

She reminds Zelda of her own mother, of the few hazy memories that she has left. Zelda stares at the woman, and something comes unbidden from Hylia’s memories. A name.

 _Nuuq-sa_ . _The Mother._

There’s no rhyme or reason to the tunnels that she or Link can discern, but that might be intentional, she thinks. Nothing in this city has been built without purpose, and this area can’t be an exception. 

Curving inwards, the tunnels begin to slope downwards and begin to widen, eventually becoming wide enough to fit two loftwings standing side by side with their wings extended. The paintings are more elaborate now, and the theme has changed. 

The mother weeps, her face serene but desolate. She holds the hands of her children around her, but their faces are skeletal now, a far cry from the joyful exuberance of the frescos above. Link and Zelda step into a wide room, and Link pauses, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

Around them, pots surround the walls, decorated with gilt jewelry and the same careful paints. Small trinkets sit in covered nooks, mementos with no rhyme or reason. Skyloft may have done it differently, but Zelda knows a sanctum of the dead when she sees one. 

A statue sits in the middle of the room. It’s of a woman— the mother—and she has two snakes entwined around her, each set with small jewels for eyes. Their heads rest in her palms, gazing at her with snake-like adoration. 

She takes a few steps forward. Something calls to her in this room—a gentle beacon that’s similar to Hylia’s pull when she’s at the sacred springs, and despite Link’s startled tug at her shoulder, she enters. The jeweled snake eyes gleam as she and her light approach. 

It’s probably a trick of the light, but for a moment, she swears that the snakes are looking at her. An air of disappointment radiates from them, and the woman’s face is forgiving, but there’s a mournful tilt to her mouth as her eyes shift to look at Link and Zelda. Zelda blinks and then shakes her head. 

Something echoes in her head, a thought that’s not her own. It’s a voice, familiar enough that she can almost remember the true face of who it belongs to.

_So you’ve come back to us, Hylia? How very bold of you._

A crescendo of guilt slams into her, a slurried mix of Hylia’s feelings and her own. “Sorry. We shouldn’t— _I_ shouldn’t have come in here. Let’s go back up, Link.” She turns on her heel and begins to hurry, the snakes and their faceted eyes drilling into her back. Link doesn’t protest when she grabs his hand, but he squeezes it once as they hurry away.

She and Link leave the room as quickly as they arrive, the smell of musty incense clinging to them as they walk back out. The sun is dipping below the horizon, and around them, the cold night of the desert has begun to set in. 

“Let’s find somewhere to rest,” Zelda says. Link nods. “One of the houses should do,” she adds, and she hopes that her voice doesn’t sound as unsure as she feels. Link nods again, and as if this is all part of the adventure, starts to march off to one of the houses. 

To him, she thinks, this _is_ part of the adventure. Camping out in the ruins of some ancient civilization, going day by day. He can’t afford to think too hard about the past that he’s standing on, because it won’t help in his mission, or in his final goal. She’s envious of that, but thankful beyond belief because it means that at least one of them is still objective about their exploring. 

They stay in the house with the flowers blooming by it.

Link lights a fire in the stone pit that still has ashes in it, and the house is lit with orange flame, flickering on the walls. She wonders how long it’s been since the fireplace has seen use, how long it’s been since the dust on the floors has been disturbed. Something rises in Zelda, and it takes a moment for her to place the feeling; it’s not mourning or loss, but an ache that comes from the fact she’s sitting somewhere that once held a family. 

She’s a ghost, peeking into a world that’s not hers and never was. She— _Hylia,_ has revoked that right. 

It hits her. What is she doing here, on the surface of a world that she didn’t know existed a scant few months ago? Yes, she’s Hylia, the maiden reborn. But how much of a right does it give her to be here, traipsing in someone else’s home?

Zelda abruptly stands and walks from the fire. She can’t do this, can’t look at the crackling flames in a hearth that was dead for so long. Something collides with her foot when she hurries, and instinctually, she grabs it. 

It’s a pot, another of the small gardens that decorate the house. She holds the glazed clay in her hands and watches the fire dance off of it, the light flickering. Closing her eyes is difficult, but when she does, the small threads of life pull at her.

And once again, as if compelled, she brings something back from a centuries-long sleep. She doesn’t know if it’s her or Hylia doing this— she told Link _‘I’m still your Zelda’—_ but she doesn’t know how true that really is anymore. 

Zelda opens her eyes. Unfurling in the pot is a tiny and broad-leafed plant. The veins on it are delicate and deep green, and a fragrant smell drifts from it. She knows the smell. It’s a plant that rests in the communal gardens in Skyloft, on windowsill pots, scattered and dried in the airiest parts of houses. She sets the pot down.

In a trance, she brings the rest of the pots to life. Beautiful flowers trail from one, and another fragrant leaf that she’s sure she’s seen in the kitchens of the Knight Academy. 

Link watches her and when she sits beside him, her body drained, he doesn’t blink when her head finds his shoulder. Instead, he pulls the blanket that sits on his shoulders around her and rests his head on hers. She tangles her fingers with his, looking at the scarring on his palms. They’re burn scars, and he’s never told her where exactly he got them from.

Another thing caused by her, as she pulled him into the machinations of Hylia’s will. He’s forgiven her as he always has, and she knows he won’t ask her about her flight from the catacombs but she wishes he would. Zelda wishes _someone_ would say something now that wasn’t deference of the highest degree. 

She wakes the next morning when her loftwing pokes its head into the house and makes a low, irritated honk. Blinking, Zelda scrunches up her face and attempts to bury it back into the somewhat ratty blanket that she and Link are sharing, but to little avail. The sun is barely over the horizon but seems determined to shine directly into her eyes. Her loftwing honks, a little louder. Shushing it, she shimmies out from under Link’s arm. 

Despite the fact that it’s still early, sweat beads on the back of her neck and under her sleep shirt when she steps outside with a small bag of food for the two loftwings. Link’s peeks its head out from under a wing, and like its owner, seems in no hurry to start the day. 

She sits on a ledge while she watches them eat, the shade of the roof above barely sheltering her from the oppressive heat that rises. Zelda loses herself in watching the sun start to touch the mountains that surround them, the tranquillity softening the emotions that threaten to well up in her again. 

Zelda startles when Link touches her shoulder. The loftwings are long gone, and she shifts over to let him sit beside her. Link shakes his head and gestures back at the house. Following him into the clay doorway again, Zelda watches as he descends a small staircase, looking back at her once to gesture again, his movements rapid with excitement. 

“What did you find?” He shakes his head and waves his hand in a ‘come on’ motion. Zelda frowns. “I don’t want to go back underground. Not today.” He beckons for her to come down the stairs, a little more urgently. Link’s many things but he’s not pushy, at least, not when it doesn’t matter. Reluctantly, she goes into the depths of the house. 

With gentle hands, Link pushes a wooden door to the side, even though it threatens to crumble to dust under his hands. He gestures to the outside of the door. It’s dark, but even in the gloom of the underground, more of the paintings twist around the doorway and deeper into the hall. Taking a deep breath, Zelda walks into the dark, one hand raised with a globule of light. 

Tunnels spread from all directions away from the door and as she steps fully into the open space and more doors make themselves known, clustered in seemingly random ways. The hall continues past the light of her magic, but she can feel a breeze that ruffles her hair. Link shuffles impatiently from behind her. She turns and steps back inside.

Link blinks at her in confusion. 

“I’m going to get dressed,” she says. He glances downwards at her pants and undershirt. “And then we’re going to see how far these tunnels go.” Link beams at her.

When they return to the tunnels, she takes a deep breath and begins to walk. Their footsteps echo down the halls, and she can’t even begin to imagine where it ends. Do they spiral downwards, deep into the stone until they meet the scalding furnace that makes up the Eldin mountains? Or do they lead to more of the nesting catacombs that sprawl underneath the city?

Hylia’s quiet, her memories frustratingly calm and serene. What she knows about this place is still hers to keep. 

More of the paintings begin to appear, but they’re simpler than the others, swirling colours that glide along the walls. The colours and lines disappear into intersections that lead off into the ever impenetrable darkness; abstract but she’s sure they mean something. 

A room opens up in front of them; it’s wide and open, and several hallways branch from it. The coloured paint is a beautiful eddy that swirls and flows into the archways, guiding and tempting them to places unknown. Link nudges her shoulder to point at a design—it’s reminiscent of the Shekiah eye. How strange to see it here, she thinks, but it’s not surprising.

The world had been more interconnected before the calamity of Demise. 

Handprints cover a large portion of one of the halls; most of them small, and there’s a fluid script written above them. Names, she thinks. Zelda crouches down and she places her hand on one of the prints; despite the fact it’s one of the smallest ones there, it’s still the same size as her own hand.

Zelda’s silent for what feels like an eternity before she speaks.

“People were here,” she says. “Someone made this handprint, chose the paint they wanted, wrote their name above it. And now here I am, hundreds of years later, putting my hand on it. Someone stood where I was standing, and they made this. Someone who lived, breathed, someone who loved the people around them.”

Link crouches beside her, the sharp _tink_ of his weapon’s blade hitting the floor loud in the silence. She doesn’t have to see his face to know the expression that’s on it, the soft confusion and sympathy. Zelda inhales sharply and then exhales, her breath leaving her in a gust. 

“They made this, made _art_. And they’re gone.” 

A sound escapes her; angry and frustrated she stands up, balling her fists. 

Link’s eyebrows furrow together at her reaction. “It’s just— ugh. It’s not fair. As silly as that is to say. I just keep hoping we’ll find something. A book, maybe. A scrap of information.” She sighs. “Not more signs that Hylia completely abandoned thousands of people to die.”

His eyes soften, and he worries at his bottom lip before tapping the side of her head, and then the bracelet on her hand. Zelda shakes her head. “I don’t think that I’m meant to remember anything. It’s like trying to break down a wall.”

If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s that Link is forward with his emotions; brutally honest and gentle even when it would serve him much better to be anything else. His face crinkles into confusion and exasperation at her words. Zelda smiles at him, and it doesn’t feel as false as she thinks it should. 

“I know. Trust me, I _know,_ ” she says with a half-hearted shake of her head. “I was her. I am her. But she very clearly feels some sort of way about it, and she’s very determined to not let me know, even though it’s obvious.” Irritation spills into her words and she sighs. “We’ll just have to figure this out on our own.”

Admittedly, Zelda can’t ignore the excitement that bubbles up inside at her own words. There’s been an ease to how she’s gone about the world since Hylia’s powers awoke in her, a grace to her actions that isn’t her own. The world bends to her commands, and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t like it. 

Link nods and he turns back to the arched walls that surround them, the handprints going high into the ceiling, and fading into the darkness. He places a hand on one of the larger prints, and it dwarfs his hand, making it look childlike. He gives Zelda a look, and she hums thoughtfully. “I wasn’t thinking about it all that much, but the doorways and roofs are really tall, aren’t they?” She looks at the rest of the hands and places hers on another, larger one. “They must have been tall people. Taller than Groose.” 

He makes a face.

She laughs, and Zelda gives Link a friendly knock as he stands. “It’s not his fault you’re so short.” He gives her another look and gestures at her. “Yes, I’m short, but I accept it. It’s part of my charm.” 

Contorting his face into an over-exaggerated grimace at her words, Link bumps her again with his shoulder, his expression still light but with a familiar undercurrent of worry. She looks up at him, and then glances back at the wall. 

“Let’s go outside. I’m getting a little tired of being this far underground.” 

She only looks back once at the handprints that fade in the darkness as they walk away, and back into the overwhelming heat of the day.

Together, they trek to the outskirts on the far side of the city, dashing from shaded corner to shaded corner. Zelda chatters as she walks, letting her voice echo across the mountains outside of the city.

“I just wish Hylia would tell me _something_ about them. A name would be nice—” 

Alarm crosses Link’s face as she speaks and his arm snakes out as she begins to fall, the ground collapsing under her feet. Yanking her back, Link scrabbles for a solid grip as the embankment they’re on collapses and they both slide down the loose dirt. 

It’s the dry riverbed, she realizes, but it’s no longer in a deep gorge and instead, rises beside the town. But unlike what she’d thought, it’s not just dried mud and dirt. Once muddy clay forms hard edges, and there are footprints in it. Hundreds of footprints. 

“Link!” she calls, her voice pitched with an emotion she can’t quite name. He looks up from where he’s laying, green tunic caked with dust, and follows her pointing finger. His eyes go wide. 

“We _have_ to follow them.” Her voice is desperate, and Link doesn’t question her as he whistles, high and sharp. There’s a responding trill from the loftwings, and the two of them descend, wings beating up a cloud of dried silt and sand. There’s no hesitation as Link and Zelda take off into the air and begin to follow the dried riverbed.

It winds through the mountains and the sand gives way to red rock, carved into strange and elongated patterns by the wind and water. Some footprints branch off onto smaller trails and disappear, but the majority stay in the riverbed. 

Zelda’s thoughts whirl. There’d obviously been some kind of migration at some point, as the land became inhospitable, and hundreds of people had moved along the drying riverbed. There has to be something left of them. There _has to._

Demise couldn’t have taken everything from this land. Hylia’s favouritism couldn’t have either.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading! fic is pre-written, and will be updated as I finish editing. thanks @ my betas, and hmu if you've got thoughts @bogfern on twitter & tumblr. love u, and keep safe.


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